


Southern Comfort

by GlassRain



Category: Leif & Thorn (Webcomic)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Bilingual Character(s), Courtship Display, Dirty Talk, Knotting, M/M, Marathon Sex, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Pregnancy Kink, Protectiveness, Zettai Ryouiki, thigh highs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-25
Updated: 2017-07-25
Packaged: 2018-12-06 15:22:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11603379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GlassRain/pseuds/GlassRain
Summary: In which Thorn did in fact look up the Sønheic translations of phrases like "desperate frenzy of hormone-driven knotting."Leif likes getting to be courted with an alpha's instinct-driven displays of strength, protectiveness, and virility. Thorn likes getting to carry around an omega in thigh-high stockings.





	Southern Comfort

**Author's Note:**

> yet another fic for Leif & Thorn: http://leifandthorn.com/
> 
> I was going to do something with mating bites but Leif has canonical vampire-related triggers so I left all that thing out. Takes place after not!date 1 but before not!date 2 (which has already jossed a bunch of things that were in the first draft of this whoops)
> 
> Leif is wearing these yummy thigh-highs: https://sincerelysweetboutique.com/preppy-life-cable-knit-thigh-high-black-socks.html

"So as I take a leave for personal business, there will be a substitute at this gate. I'll be back on guard duty in about a week."

"Personal business?" repeated Leif.

Thorn had researched and translated this speech very carefully. He was sure he hadn't gotten the Sønheic term wrong. "That's right."

"What kind?"

"The kind that is . . . personal."

"Family business?" suggested Leif. It wasn't like him to pry . . . oh, of course, he thought Thorn was being vague because he didn't have the vocabulary. "Business with your home?"

"No, and no."

Thorn had also researched a whole thesaurus' worth of Sønheic terms for heat, sex, instinct, impregnation, and _desperate frenzy of hormone-driven knotting_. But only because he believed in being thorough. Not because he was planning to say them out loud.

Leif's cheeks turned faintly pink under the rims of his glasses. ". . . Northern business?"

Reluctantly, Thorn nodded. It didn't mean _north_ the direction, it meant _North_ \-- the (polite) Sønheic term for the biological category called _alphas_ in Ceannic.

"Oh! Okay. G-good luck with that."

"Thanks," said Thorn, because how else were you supposed to respond? Neither of them was looking directly at the other by this point. And no wonder. Leif was probably getting mental images of what Thorn might look like in heat, and if they were half as explicit as the ones Thorn's mind sometimes conjured up of . . .

"Will you have help?"

"Um. No!" He wasn't dating anyone, and he'd never gotten comfortable with the prospect of casual "helping" from omega friends. Or one-heat stands. Better to spend a few days in the fog of suppressant meds, and getting what comfort he still needed from a conveniently inanimate toy. "I will be alone."

"Do you _want_ help?"

Startled, Thorn stole a glance at Leif's face. Even redder now.

"I don't have free time. And I understand if you don't want to pay," added Leif, staring at the nearest bush like it was the most fascinating plant in Sønheim. "I just wanted to ask, if I can . . . and if you would, ah, appreciate, not being alone up north . . ."

His omega scent, barely noticeable when Thorn's senses weren't heat-enhanced, was suddenly sharp and rich and enticing. Either the wind had changed or Thorn's PHS had picked that moment to go from zero to high tide. This on top of the fact that his interest in Leif was anything but casual.

Fighting back his embarrassment, Thorn kept his voice and gaze steady. This was _not_ a case where he could afford a translation mix-up. "Are you making an offer to check on me and make sure I . . . have water, and all that? Or, are you making an offer to sex me?"

Leif's eyes crinkled up at the corners for a second, the way they did when Thorn's grammar tripped up in a way that sounded silly. But he'd understood, and wasn't offended. "The sex one, sir."

He _sirred_ Thorn and the other knights on a regular basis, but damned if this time it didn't send a shiver down Thorn's spine. To have Leif in his bed -- pale skin flushed all over, dark hair spread out across the pillows -- saying things like _this is good, sir,_ whilst Thorn . . .

Oh, frell.

"Let me give you my address," said Thorn, trying not to pant too obviously. "And a spare key."

 

. . .

 

Leif got very, very lost on the way to Thorn's flat. He missed a train stop, couldn't find anyone who spoke enough Sønheic to give him clear directions, and of course none of the Ceannic street names were pronounced the way they looked written down.

The more time ticked away, the more flushed he got with anticipation. As soon as this unorthodox rental had been approved, he'd stopped taking his heat-blocking elixir, and his Southern hormones wasted no time kicking in. He kept getting eyed by interested Northerners on the train, or catching the scent of someone's approaching rut on the city breeze . . . he wasn't soaking through his trousers yet, but give it a few hours.

He had to reach his destination before that happened. Partly because he was wearing the nice suit, and it would come out of his salary if it had to be dry-cleaned. Mostly because Thorn was his friend, and had helped Leif out in turn, and Leif had promised to come through for him, and . . . and Thorn was _hot_ , okay. It wasn't for nothing that so many trashy romance sagas starred a rugged foreign knight with a lean muscled frame, dashing sword skills, and long wavy hair that flowed in the breeze.

Even if Thorn _was_ a little short for a knight.

Even if his hair didn't so much _flow_ as _poof_.

Even if he didn't always have the unshakable lordly confidence you would expect. Maybe that would be different when he was in rut? It was different when he had something to fight, that was for sure. Leif remembered him facing off against that fire-breathing stray dog that got past the gates, drawing a silver sword and moving with the grace of an athlete, totally unafraid . . . 

He was forty minutes late by the time he got to Thorn's door: mouth dry, thighs damp.

Was he supposed to let himself in, since he had the key? Or should he knock? Maybe it would be politer to knock. Unless he had made a mistake and this was the wrong door, in which case the key wouldn't work, but a knock would bring some stranger to see who was on their doorstep, and if they found a winsome Southerner in the flush of early heat, ripe for the plucking . . . 

Leif tried the key.

The door swung open.

Thorn was sitting in the entry hall, in front of the largest fan Leif had ever seen, pressing a wet towel to his neck. His tunic was damp with sweat, though Leif could barely smell it over the thick Northern scent filling the air, and his trousers were stretched uncomfortably tight.

His head shot up at Leif's appearance, nostrils flaring as he breathed in the arrival.

Next moment he was on his feet and dragging Leif inside by the lapels. "Hello, sweet thing. Hello, are you ready? You smell good." He pulled Leif right up to him, took a deep whiff of Leif's neck whilst grinding their hips together. "You smell ready. Are you ready for me?"

And Leif _wasn't_. He was still only pre-heat slippery, not full-on into the physical transports where his body would swallow Thorn's cock and take a knot with ease. A smaller Northerner, maybe. Not the one he could feel rutting against him right now.

"I'm not ready yet," said Leif hoarsely. "Show off for me. Give me a display."

 

. . .

 

When Leif showed up, it took serious effort for Thorn to resist tackling him, hauling down his trousers, and mounting him right there in the hallway.

(If only he could know without asking that Leif was ready. If only public sex wasn't against the terms of his lease. If only the landlord wouldn't have sent him the cleaning bill.)

Thorn had used an alpha heat-relief aid this morning, the silicon gripping firmly around him until his knot went down. Then he put it away, not wanting his dick to be occupied when Leif arrived. For the past twenty minutes he had been running on ice water and willpower. The sudden smell of an omega was like fresh-baked heaven; taking that omega's body in a firm grip was a balm to the soul.

The drawback of Thorn's self-denial strategy was that he was in no state to remember most of his Sønheic. He strung together as many words as he could manage, with the part of his brain that wasn't preoccupied by sex and strength and impregnating the next fertile omega he saw.

"I'm not ready yet," said Leif -- then, mercifully, added, "Show off for me. Give me a display."

Yes! Yes, Thorn could do a display. His instincts were prepared for the idea that he might have to prove he was the most eligible sire for miles around. _Then_ sex.

He guided Leif back to the door, kicked it closed -- no sense leaving it open for other alphas to come snooping through -- and pushed the omega firmly against the oak. "Put your arms here," he said, draping Leif's arms around his shoulders. "And your legs -- up."

Leif obediently clung to his shoulders and wrapped both legs around his waist. Thorn clasped his hands under Leif's ass, growled under his breath, then stepped back from the support of the wood and twirled them gently around. The omega let out a small _oop!_ when he went airborne, and clung to Thorn with a delighted little smile.

The physical exertion took the edge off Thorn's sex drive. "Feel this? I'm strong," he crooned, swaying with Leif back and forth. "You are have such strong babies. The strongest."

"I _would_ have such strong babies," said Leif helpfully.

Right. Grammar. Thorn couldn't remember the fine points of (that kind of) conjugation right now, but he was sure Leif was right, because Leif was smart and kind. "You _would_ have strong babies," he echoed, carrying Leif through the sitting room with leisurely steps and casual twirls. They were going to be smart and kind babies too.

And enticing -- Leif's scent seemed to be getting stronger with every step -- and highly kissable. Thorn set Leif briefly on the arm of the couch so he had leverage to dig in his heels whilst claiming Leif's mouth. The omega melted into the kiss, mouth open for Thorn's tongue, unbothered by the way Thorn's enthusiasm jostled his glasses. The grip of his legs let go as his thighs spread wide. His suit jacket -- the nice one, with silver buttons and violet piping -- seemed to fall right off the moment Thorn gave it a tug.

"You're beautiful," murmured Thorn in between mouthing hungrily at Leif's ear. "Such beautiful big hips. Such a body." He pawed at Leif's torso: first through the loose white shirt, which was tucked Sønheim-fashion into the waistband of his pants, then skin-to-skin once he tugged the fabric free. "But not very heavy. I could pick up something much heavier. Do you want to see?"

Leif shivered. "No, pick me up again!"

Gladly!

Instead of using the face-to-face grip from before, Thorn picked Leif up bodily and hefted him into an over-the-shoulder carry. Like a sack of sexy potatoes. After taking a second to re-balance for the new load, Thorn carted Leif off to the bedroom, patting his butt reassuringly (Leif wriggled and made excited noises) and admiring his legs. Short dark pants, one shoe left now that its partner had already fallen off, and, mmm, ribbed red knee socks.

Thorn felt aglow with energy, like he could have carried Leif in circles around the flat for another hour, but there was more to show off. He laid the omega out on the navy blue sheets and pulled back the canopy, tying it open, so Leif could rest on the pillow whilst looking over the snacks on the bedside table. "I'm prepared, see? I have water, other good drinks, food, many good things."

He picked the items up one-by-one to demonstrate, nearly dropping a few in his enthusiasm -- little cans of soda, energy bars, fruit cups and puddings, all the best snacks to efficiently replenish the fluids and calories you lost during heat sex. Some were Thorn's long-time favorite brands, others he had gotten side-eyed for by the clerk at the local Sønheic market. Leif had said he didn't have any special needs, and in the moment Thorn was almost mad about that: wishing he'd been given a chance to pick up some weird specific mix of herbs and vitamins, to highlight what a good provider he was.

When he held up a particular can with a label he could only half-read (and suspected was a lecherous pun), Leif moaned softly and rubbed his thighs together. "That's my favorite."

Thorn puffed up with pride. "See! I can get your favorite. Anything you need, I can get it. I can take such care of you."

The mattress dipped as he sat, placed the drink reverently in Leif's hands, and pawed between Leif's legs.

"I will take such care of your babies too," he said, prodding at Leif's entrance through the thick fabric. His cock, which had softened from painful throbbing to dull aching during his display, went rock-hard again when he felt dampness against his fingertips.

Leif trembled so hard he dropped the can. It went rolling forgotten across the floor as he made a scrambling effort to spread his legs and push down his pants at the same time. "I'm ready. I'm ready! Fuck me, knot me, come in me --"

He was gabbling a string of phrases Thorn had never learned by the time Thorn got their pants off -- and Leif's glasses, and that one shoe, leaving the long red socks on Leif's beautiful, beautiful calves -- and thrust gratefully, greedily, into him.

 

. . .

 

Leif only caught a brief glimpse of Thorn's cock before it was pounding inside him, and was so turned-on that even the suddenness didn't hurt a bit. His body was ready and eager to swallow up a Northerner into its deepest parts, and oh, Thorn went deep, stimulating every sensitive inch.

"You're going to fill me up all the way," he moaned, clawing at Thorn's back, Thorn's breath hot on his shoulder. "You're going to pump come straight into my womb -- make me swell up like I'm already pregnant -- oh stars above, you're so strong, you could fuck me against a wall, you could do anything --"

Thorn didn't answer, even in Ceannic. Maybe he was too lost in the flood of hormones to handle language at all -- probably wasn't getting a word Leif was saying.

Leif kept talking anyway. The general idea would get through, that he was praising his Northerner for being so northerly, and anyone rutting into you with this much vigor deserved such praise. "You're so strong and so virile and you feel so good, having your babies is going to make me feel so _good_ \--"

He trailed off into a shuddering cry as Thorn pulled out with his knot already starting to swell, then pushed it back in, this time forcing Leif's Southern hole to stretch until it burned. The extra shot of pain pushed him over the edge, muscles deep inside him clamping down instinctively as he came, so now Thorn was locked inside him.

Thorn tried to thrust a few more times, shoving Leif's hips into the mattress and then dragging them up by the knot, before the extra squeeze brought his own orgasm cascading down.

After so many years on suppressant elixir, Leif had forgotten how good it felt to be so _full_. How calming it was, how fulfilling, how as a Southerner his body simply belonged on a knot with Northern seed sloshing around inside him.

Slowly, still panting for breath, Thorn let the weight of his hips rest on Leif's and sat up on his elbows to gaze into Leif's face. His eyes were glassy and unfocused, but his mouth kept twitching into a smile and he stroked back Leif's sweat-dampened hair with reverent (if wobbly) tenderness.

"I was good, sir?" said Leif, sounding needier than he meant to.

Thorn nodded, vigorous as a weathervane in a blizzard. "Yes! Yes, good."

He got a hand under one of Leif's thighs and rolled them over on their sides. Leif slung the leg over Thorn's hips, getting them back to an angle where Thorn's cock sat comfortably inside him, and nuzzled around Thorn's mouth, getting a kiss.

 

. . .

 

When their lips parted, Thorn swallowed and said, in much-less-broken Sønheic, "You were late. Was there a problem?"

Leif blushed. "I got lost."

"Ah! I'm sorry." Thorn should have asked one of the other knights to show Leif the way. At least when this was over he could personally escort Leif back.

" _You're_ sorry? I made you . . . wait."

"Well, I think I said things I shouldn't say. So I'm sorry for that also." Thorn idly felt his way up the curve of Leif's ass and the soft expanse of his torso. There were flavors of alpha dirty-talk that would be either be scorchingly-hot or scathingly-cruel, depending on whether your omega was into them. He didn't remember going that far, at least not out loud, but where he _had_ gone . . . "I said . . . things about babies, right? I didn't mean them. I know you're on a chip for that."

Leif nodded. "I thought it might be the rut talking."

"The what?"

"Rut." Thorn must still have looked baffled, because Leif elaborated: "What you're in? Northern mating cycle? I'm in heat, you're in rut?"

"Oh!" exclaimed Thorn as the centime dropped. "You have two words for it! In Ceannic it's the same word for both."

Leif's face, which had been fading back to its normal paleness, turned red all over again. "Have you been telling people in Sønheic that you're . . . ?"

"I have only called it 'Northern business'!" And thank goodness for that. Thorn could only imagine the look if he'd asked that Sønheic clerk the equivalent of _what do you have that's good for when I go into omega heat?_ whilst smelling of distinctly alpha PHS. "Are there other words I should know?"

Leif curled a hand over his neck and twirled a lock of his hair. "I liked the babies talk once you got me into heat," he admitted. "Do you know what [something] means?"

Thorn didn't. So Leif talked him through the subtle implications of four different ways to say _I'm going to knock you up_ , each one filthier than the last. When Thorn tried out _I'm going to fuck you full of pups,_ he actually felt Leif's body spasm tighter around his cock.

If that kept happening, his knot was never going to go down.

When he asked if Leif in turn had questions, Leif plucked at the neckline of his tunic, which had never made it off. "Is it the Ceannic custom to keep these on? Or is it just that you were in a hurry?"

"The hurry. Such a hurry." If Thorn's skin was as light as Leif's, he would've been the one blushing now. "It doesn't matter either way about the shirts, but . . . I like the socks. Please keep the socks on."

He pulled at one that had ridden down Leif's leg during the sex, and realized they went even higher than he'd guessed. When smoothed back up, it went to the middle of Leif's thigh. He pictured Leif in a long Ceannic tunic, more sensible and less constricting than the multi-piece Sønheic getup, leaving a strip of bare skin above the hem of his stockings. Mmmm.

If Leif noticed Thorn's distraction, he didn't comment. "Can I have your shirt off? I like your chest. I like . . . watching you flex."

They got rid of the tunic, and Leif's shirt too. Thorn gave a quick explanation that Leif shouldn't scratch or bite the area that was burn-scarred, but all his scars were safe to touch. Leif in turn confirmed that he was okay with being touched all over his smooth kissable torso. Then he traced the heartsword scar down the center of Thorn's chest, and did a wonderful breathy shivering thing as he caressed Thorn's abs.

Stars above, Thorn's knot was _definitely_ never going down.

 

. . . 

 

Leif suppressed a small noise of discontent when Thorn's cock finally slipped out of him. He was pretty sure they'd been tied for an unusually long time, and he was firmly in the comfortable post-orgasmic glowy stage where he didn't _need_ to be on a knot. When he started feeling it again, he was sure Thorn would be just as desperate.

It turned out Thorn had some clever Ceanska garments that were basically towels to button around your waist, so he could give Leif a belated tour of the flat without having to be careful what they leaned on. Here was the bathroom (Leif took a minute to use it, and to brush out his well-mussed hair). Here was the kitchen (they got yogurt drinks from the fridge, nutritional _and_ chilled). Here was the sitting room again (Leif taught Thorn the Sønheic word for "pull-out couch").

"Are you okay with me sleeping alone?" asked Thorn, almost shyly.

Leif frowned. "You won't wake up and want me in the middle of the night?"

"I probably will," admitted Thorn. "But then I will come to you. I have nightmares, you see? I don't want to wake you up for . . . non-sex reasons."

"Oh, okay. You have your cat for, um, mental health things, right? Is she around?" If something happened that made Thorn too edgy to be touched, maybe Leif could soothe him through the soulbond by petting Tiernan. But he hadn't seen her all afternoon.

"She's outside." Thorn looked more flustered than ever. "When I'm in . . . rut, she is also in rut."

Ohhhh. That . . . was not something Leif could soothe.

He sat on the couch to give himself something else to talk about. "Well, this is comfortable. I won't have a problem sleeping here." Now that he thought about it, there was something exciting about the idea of a Northerner in rut wanting him desperately enough to get up and find him. 

"No -- I meant that I will sleep here!" exclaimed Thorn. "You're the guest. And the Southerner, so I have to pamper you. You will have the bed."

Leif should have objected. He was the servant and Thorn was the knight; Thorn had a right of caste to the most comfortable sleep. On the other hand, it was a turn-on for both of them to let the Northerner demonstrate what a good caretaker he was. Also, this was kind of like an order, right? Leif should follow it. "Yes, sir."

He took a moment to straighten his stockings. They were the good kind, thick ribbed wool that reached almost all the way up his leg, perfect for long Sønheic winters.

The next thing he knew, Thorn was kneeling on the carpet in front of him, touching his knees. "Hello, beautiful."

"H-hi."

"I love your legs."

"Well, I love your chest," said Leif seriously, "so this is a good angle for us."

It came as a surprise when Thorn laughed. (Not a bad surprise. It did lovely flexing things to his bare shoulders.) "I can stay down here, then?" he asked, folding up Leif's towel-skirt.

The insides of Leif's thighs were still damp. Thorn's light touches made them tingle. "Yes, sir."

 

. . .

 

This angle gave Thorn a beautiful view. Leif was (still? again?) wet, and his small omega cock swelled a little when Thorn unfolded the towel around it, spreading his legs and pushing them up and back. When Thorn's thumbs caressed the creases where Leif's legs joined his body, he got to see Leif's hole twitch, like it was trying to pull something in.

"Are you ready to fuck me again?" asked Leif, sounding half-eager, half-nervous.

"Not yet." There was a low throb of arousal in the pit of Thorn's stomach, but not so overwhelming that he couldn't hold off and enjoy this first. He circled Leif's hole, getting his fingertips covered with slick. "This is good?"

The omega was getting noticeably short of breath. "Good, sir."

To Thorn's dismay, he was drawing a complete blank on the Sønheic word for _fist_. He settled for finger-fucking Leif -- three at a time on the first try, they went right in -- and saying, "Also good?"

Leif was much too polite to make fun of a stupid question. But the look that flashed across his face said he thought Thorn must be out of his mind.

"Well, tell me if anything is not good," said Thorn, and folded all four fingers and thumb together.

This time he felt a stretch as they pushed into the slick wet heat, but Leif's head fell back with a cry of pleasure, and he relaxed enough to slide down the cushion so his own weight drove Thorn's hand the rest of the way in. He was shaking with arousal, writhing lightly on Thorn's wrist . . . Thorn leaned in to kiss the base of his sweet little cock, and Leif all but squealed.

"Do you want me to move?" asked Thorn, giving his hand a shallow thrust. He was using his non-injured arm, so he could fuck an omega on it for a while without getting sore. "Or do you want this?"

He made a fist, filling Leif right where a knot would sit, and Leif's eyes fluttered closed. "This, sir -- this please! Keep me tied until you need me. Where did you get this idea?"

"Ah . . . porn." Thorn pillowed his head on Leif's thigh. The ribbed pattern of the stockings pressed into his cheek. "Have you not seen this kind? There's a lot of it."

Leif got a handful of Thorn's hair again, fingers buried in his curls. "After this, please show me where to find it."

 

. . .

 

It wasn't long afterward that Thorn's hormones rose again. He brought Leif back to the bedroom, in a princess carry this time. Leif landed on the mattress and rolled over on his stomach, so he could spread his legs and raise his ass high. Presenting. Fuckable.

The mattress creaked as Thorn climbed on behind him. Something white flickered in the corner of Leif's vision -- the towel-kilt being tossed aside. Thorn squeezed his ass through the fluffy fabric that barely covered it at this angle, then rucked the whole thing up around his waist and held his hips in place, cockhead rubbing against Leif's entrance.

It was enticing. It was maddening. Especially when Leif could smell perfectly well that Thorn wanted to be inside him. "I'm ready! Fuck me, please, don't hold back, I'm ready _now_."

"Soon, pretty thing. Soon."

He seemed to have hands everywhere: caressing Leif's skin, toying with his dick, thumbs pressing dimples into his ass. Between that and the slow thrusting of Thorn's cock against Leif's twitching thighs, Leif was reduced to a squirming mess. He could keep himself from begging out loud, but not from making a cascade of small needy noises. At least Thorn's heavy breathing was a reassurance that Leif wasn't the only one getting hotter by the moment.

When the Northerner plunged into him without warning, the pleasurable shock was so intense Leif came on the first thrust. And of course then Thorn kept _going_. Leif clawed mindlessly at the mattress as Thorn held him, used him, came in him, knotted him again so it would stay in.

They didn't talk so much this time. They spooned, Leif overstimulated into a sleepy daze, Thorn's arms wrapped firmly around him as if to make extra-sure he wouldn't slip away. Occasionally Thorn's hand moved down to caress his stomach, and Leif knew he was fantasizing about having a Southerner full of pups, and felt his heart skip a beat.

 

. . .

 

Thorn couldn't remember the Sønheic word for _shower_ , as in did Leif want one, but once he described it Leif said no. He wanted to keep smelling like Thorn's omega, he said. Even if this _was_ a civilized modern age where no other alpha was going to creep in and steal him if he wasn't scent-marked enough.

Food, Leif said yes to. That was good. Thorn would have been wracked with anxiety if his omega didn't eat. Part of him wanted to hand-feed Leif, but he was pretty ravenous in his own right, so he contented himself with watching Leif chow down on plenty of protein and drink two tall glasses of water.

By this point it was a reasonable hour for falling asleep. Instinct told Thorn to stay right here in case his Leif needed defending, but logic reminded him it wasn't a good idea. He gave himself excuses to hover around as long as he could, sweeping up imaginary crumbs and making sure Leif was perfectly tucked-in, then soothed himself after leaving the room by tidying up around the flat. The fan got stashed against a wall; the towels and bowl of melted ice, returned to the kitchen counter. There wouldn't be a single thing Leif could accidentally trip on. That was part of being a good, protective alpha.

It calmed him down enough to spend at least a few hours knocked-out on the pull-out couch.

He woke up already-hard and sweating. The big moon was full and the little moon waxing, so it was bright enough that he didn't turn on any lights, just let himself back into the bedroom and gave Leif a gentle shake. The omega woke with a deep breath -- a scenting, not a gasp -- and wordlessly pulled back the blankets to invite Thorn in.

"You're very pretty," Thorn murmured into Leif's ear, fucking him with firm-but-gentle thrusts.

Leif hugged him closer. "Uh-huh?"

"How many babies do you want?"

"Want you to keep me so pregnant I can't walk."

Thorn wasn't sure that made sense, but he was foggy enough that it sounded hot anyway.

This time his knot went down in less than a minute. Leif whimpered and clung when he tried to pull out, and it was all Thorn could do to remember that he shouldn't just stay in his omega forever.

Good military strategist that he was, Thorn had a backup plan. "Plan" in this case meaning "dildo." He pulled it out of a drawer, slid it into Leif's hole -- his aim couldn't have been good, but Leif was still so wet anything would have slipped right in -- and squeezed the base until the artificial knot inflated.

It made Leif relax. Thorn tucked the sheet sloppily around him, gave him one last kiss, and stumbled back to the couch.

 

. . .

 

Thorn looked peaceful in his sleep when Leif tiptoed in. (Peaceful and naked. He was wrapped in a sheet that left nothing to the imagination -- you couldn't even sell fabric that light in Sønheim at all, except maybe as a veil.) If he was having one of his nightmares, it was a quiet one. Leif knelt awkwardly beside the folded-out bed, keeping his legs wide, and risked giving Thorn's arm a pat.

The Northerner snapped awake instantly, a spark of something feral in his distant blue eyes, and slapped a hand palm-down on his chest. Right over the heartsword scar.

After a few long seconds -- during which Leif stayed as still and non-threatening as humanly possible -- Thorn focused on him, and started to relax. He moved his arm so it wasn't in prime sword-drawing position, though it still wasn't far off. "Leif? H-hi," he said in shakier-than-usual Sønheic. "Are you okay?"

"I'm not hurt," said Leif. Sore and tender, that was all, not harmed. "I'm -- I just -- what did you put in me?"

That got Thorn's attention. He struggled to sit up, rubbing his eyes. "A toy," he said around a yawn. "You don't remember? You wanted . . . thingy. I thoughted you liked."

He'd spent so much time asking and re-asking if Leif was okay -- he was probably afraid something terrible had happened now he'd stopped. Leif hastened to reassure him. "I remember we had sex last night. You put something in me. It felt good! But now . . . I don't know how to get it out."

Thorn muttered something in Ceannic. Judging by the tone, probably a curse. He reached between Leif's legs and did something to the toy's flared base, and the artificial knot started to deflate, until Leif could pull it gingerly out.

He handed it to Thorn, who produced a towel from somewhere to leave it on, and sank to the least-uncomfortable sitting position he could manage. "I always had fantasies about being knotted for hours and hours," he confessed, finding Thorn's hand and holding it. "If you had asked that, I would have said yes! I guess I didn't think it through."

Thorn clasped the hand between his own. "Will you come up here?"

Leif climbed up onto the thin mattress. He was still wearing a towel, and the long socks bunched around his knees.

"I should asked." Thorn paused, then corrected himself. "I should _have_ asked. If you could get it out. I'm sorry."

"I think it'll be okay soon." Leif pondered comparing it the soreness your muscles could get after working out too hard, then reconsidered: first, Thorn might not know the Sønheic words, and second, for all he knew, people as well-muscled as Thorn didn't _get_ sore. "It would be pretty silly if I came to help you in rut, and then I was here the whole time but you couldn't fuck me for most of it anyway."

"Well, I have toys for me too," said Thorn, bringing Leif's hand to his face and kissing it. "And it feels good to have you around for other reasons."

Right, of course. The Northerner could still indulge in his mate-protecting and strength-displaying instincts for Leif. That wasn't something a sex toy could appreciate.

"Did you eat yet?" added Thorn. "What do you want for breakfast?"

 

. . .

 

Thorn made each of them a bowl of yogurt topped with cut fruit. Mostly so he could demonstrate to Leif how good he was at chopping things.

He even drifted into a brief fantasy about using his heartsword, for the extra personal touch. Although realistically, that blade would have gone right through the cutting board. And the countertop. And probably some of the pipes.

He wasn't used to being able to exercise during heat; the meds that let him get through it alone also made him too sluggish to keep up a routine. With Leif around, he found himself alert and eager to get to it. He played a workout video on his smartcrystal, and Leif curled up on the couch with a healing pack pressed to his abdomen and watched in delight: counting along with Thorn's crunches and push-ups, actually clapping when Thorn switched to doing them one-armed.

But no amount of exertion could burn off Thorn's raging hormones indefinitely.

The alpha heat-relief aid was a big ungainly lump of a thing, pale-blue and sturdy on the outside, soft and squeezing on the inside. It had a safety catch in case you needed to get it off before your knot went down, which Thorn showed Leif how to use, just in case something went _really_ wrong. Then the omega held it facing the edge of the mattress, so Thorn could stand and pound into it whilst gazing into Leif's eyes, breathing in Leif's scent, hearing Leif gush about what strong pups he was going to sire.

Stars above, Leif was gorgeous.

Thorn's ungainly cargo meant that the only practical way to cuddle afterward was with Leif as the big spoon -- a role that didn't seem to come naturally, but he rose to the occasion. When Thorn closed his eyes, blocking out everything but Leif's general closeness and the oddly-cool pressure around his cock, he could pretend he was knotted in the omega directly.

"I think I'll want you inside me next time," said Leif, lips warm against the back of Thorn's neck. "How do I say that in Ceannic?"

So Thorn taught him how to say _fuck me_ , and _breed me_ , and _I need your cock now_. In both the formal and familiar conjugations. He didn't expect Leif to ever be fluent in the language, but that was no reason not to pick up a few useful phrases.

 

. . .

 

They had sex with Leif on top, riding Thorn so slowly at first that he could see the physical ache on the Northerner's face. Thorn clung to Leif's still-stockinged thighs and urged him faster -- saying it couldn't hurt because Leif was such a good sweet Southerner, and being full of Northern cock was what his body was built for. The praise went straight to the deepest Southern parts of Leif's brain.

They sat together to watch a broadcast -- nothing hard-to-follow, just some concert thing -- and started having sex on the couch halfway through. A Northern guitarist came on with a solo, Leif got wobbly staring at her biceps, so Thorn pinned him down right there and fucked him like he had something to prove. Slow and thorough. By the end Leif was wailing with such shameless abandon that they completely missed the rest of the show.

They had sex in the bedroom, then Thorn picked Leif up whilst still knotted inside him, and carried him like that into the kitchen. The display of casual strength was so viscerally arousing it made another orgasm pulse through Leif's body, shaking him so much he was astonished Thorn didn't collapse. His slick ran down Thorn's legs and left wet streaks on the floor.

Thorn turned the cleanup into an extended housekeeping display: scrubbing, sweeping, dusting. He put Leif on the couch and tidied up all around him, bringing him blankets and pillows and all kinds of little comforts, as if Leif was already pregnant and Thorn had to build him a nest. Leif clapped and cooed and spread his legs, the Northerner sprang at him like a cat leaping on a piece of string, and they had sex on the couch again.

In the middle of that night Leif was the first one woken up by hormones. He wandered blearily out to the sitting room, found Thorn tossing and turning and letting out garbled noises of distress (or maybe just sleep-talking in Ceannic, who could tell the difference), and walked himself straight back to bed. He fingered his hole with one hand and pulled lightly at his cock with the other, which took the edge off but left him still-ready a little later, when Thorn came padding in for him.

In the morning, when Leif came out of a long hot shower, Thorn was doing a Sønheic exercise on some language-learning app. He tried to listen without comment, but got cross when the app gave Thorn a gold star for something that wasn't proper Sønheic at all, it was some Manborgian vulgarism. Thorn listened intently to his explanation of how to say it _right_ , nodded a lot, then pulled him into a kiss.

It wasn't like the rough, devouring kisses he gave at the height of rut, or the languid and thorough ones he could manage post-orgasm, or even like the clumsy kisses he gave when he was tired. It was deep and sweet, but quick, and it wasn't a prelude to sexy posturing or even more kissing, at least for the next half-hour. It was just . . . itself.

Leif wasn't sure what it meant, but he liked it.

 

. . .

 

On the fourth day Leif spent at Thorn's flat, they only had sex twice. Leif didn't try to present any more than that, and Thorn was okay with it, didn't feel the urgent drive to display until he coaxed Leif's hormones up again.

They spent the rest of the time hanging out half-dressed. (As a step up from mostly-naked.) Thorn had sent for a heat-specialty laundry service to deal with the clothes they'd gone through so far, including, to his great regret, Leif's stockings. Leif seemed surprised that his clothes were included in the laundry order. Hopefully they would come back in time for Thorn to get the stockings back on him one more time.

Tiernan showed up at his window that afternoon, mewing impatiently. When Thorn let her in, she ran straight to Leif and wove in circles around his legs, purring, until he picked her up.

"She likes me," said Leif happily, holding her against his shoulder like an infant and giving gentle skritches from her neck to the base of her tail.

" _We_ like you," corrected Thorn. He had told Leif about the soulbond, but he wasn't always sure Leif grasped the everyday implications.

"And I like _her_ ," said Leif. " _She's_ very precious to me."

Okay, that time he knew exactly what he was saying.

The cat spent the rest of the evening in Leif's arms or curled up at his side, only running off for short breaks when she absolutely had to. When they ate dinner -- at a table this time, like civilized, non-heat-crazed humans -- she planted herself in Leif's lap.

"Now that she's back, will it be easier for you?" asked Leif cautiously over his rice pilaf. "The nightmares, I mean."

"Maybe." Thorn gave him a close look. "Did you see something?"

"A couple nights ago. You were [something]." (Thorn's nightmare vocabulary was limited, but he'd heard descriptions in Ceannic before, so he could guess.) "Can you draw your sword in your sleep?"

"No! Lucky, no." Thorn could have sliced up a whole lot of furniture that way. A quiet impulse propelled him to add, "Sometimes that is part of the nightmare. I'm in danger and I try to draw my sword to fight it. But I'm really asleep, so I can't."

Leif's hand drifted under the tabletop to skritch behind Tiernan's ears. It helped. "I was hoping, if you were in a good enough place, we could sleep in the bed together."

For a moment Thorn seriously considered it. There was zero chance he would accidentally stab Leif in his sleep. On the other hand, there was a nonzero chance something would happen that made him try to stab Leif right as he was waking up. On the other other hand, he had sleep elixirs in his cabinet too, for exactly this sort of occasion. On whatever hand he was up to now, the medication would make him groggy for a lot of the next day . . . but it wasn't like he had to go to work tomorrow . . . but he did want to keep spending time with Leif, and he wanted to be conscious for as much of that as possible.

"What will help most," he said, "is if Tiernan sleeps in the bed with you. It'll feel almost as good. And it'll help with . . . the hormones, the Northern instincts, that are bothered when I am not . . . well, watching you."

"I guess there's no chance she'll want to sleep somewhere else, huh."

Thorn shook his head. "Next to you is the only place she'll want to be."

 

. . .

 

After all that, it was pleasant if confusing when Leif woke up with more than cat-shaped companionship.

He hadn't been shaken awake for sex, or even stirred by the unexpected arrival -- although he'd probably scented Thorn in his sleep, judging by his vaguely-recalled dreams of being pregnant and cared-for. He just drifted awake to see Thorn, head propped up on one elbow, gazing down at Leif with vivid blue eyes. Tiernan was there too, judging by the subtle pressure of toe beans pressed against the side of his head.

"Is it morning?" asked Leif, puzzled. He could hear birds chirping and see sunlight in the next room, so probably. "Are you hot? You smell . . . post-rut."

"I think I am." Thorn's early-morning voice was hoarse but soft. "I just wanted to watch you sleep. What of you?"

Leif shifted his hips a little, considering. If Thorn started displaying, he was still hot enough to respond, but he would be okay without part of a Northerner inside of him. If he went home today, he wouldn't end up panting for someone to molest him on the train, or hanging around the Embassy guardhouse making sad eyes. "I'm getting to the end of it. Coming down."

"If there's anything you want on the way, just ask."

Without thinking, Leif blurted, "Pet me?"

Thorn didn't recognize the Sønheic term, which meant Leif could have replaced it with something less embarrassing, but if he sabotaged Thorn's language-learning he'd be no better than that error-prone app. So he got himself curled up with his head in Thorn's lap, the Northerner stroking his hair.

They were both wearing long nightshirts at this point, and Leif nuzzled up to the shape of Thorn's cock under the fabric. Not trying to get him hard, just enjoying the intimacy.

"There is a word, in Ceannic, for people who help each other with sex," said Thorn after a while. "I didn't look up if you have the word too. A literal translation is like 'heat friend'."

"Sounds like 'fuck buddies'," offered Leif.

"That could be right."

"And . . . is that how you want us to be?" Leif's heart soared at the thought. To be rented every time Thorn went into rut . . .

"No!" exclaimed Thorn. "No, that's not what I mean. I'm trying to say that I don't do that. Even with Southern friends who are very close, I don't ask to help with my rut, or invite to help them with heat. It's not comfortable for me."

Confused, Leif moved to back away. "You're not comfortable?"

"I am!" Thorn pulled him close again, squishing Leif's cheek firmly against his clothed cock, so much that he could feel it twitch. "I am comfortable with you. I would say yes to nobody but you. Because I don't want you to be my fucking buddy."

Ohhhh.

"But if you want something different," added Thorn hurriedly, "I understand . . . "

Leif was _supposed_ to want something different. He wasn't supposed to crave claiming from a short poofy-haired foreigner who kept failing to be as assertive and commanding as Northerners had the natural right to be. For that matter, _Thorn_ was supposed to want something different, not a Southern servant who couldn't possibly take enough time off to fulfill his natural role of bearing and raising children.

And yet . . . and yet.

"What I want," said Leif, "is to be as incredibly special to you as you already are to me."

Maybe he should have phrased that more straightforwardly -- Thorn's lips moved silently as he parsed out the clauses under his breath. Leif watched with patience, enjoying the view. The dawning comprehension on Thorn's face was worth waiting for.

 

. . .

 

It was their last day together before Leif had to go back to work. The omega spent it traipsing around the flat wearing his knee-high stockings, a loose tunic borrowed from Thorn that barely hung low enough to cover his ass, and absolutely nothing else.

"You will make me go right away back into rut again," said Thorn, only half kidding.

Leif looked concerned. "Is that possible?"

"No! Not that I know. It's a joke." He should be so lucky, thought Thorn wistfully, watching Leif's creamy bare thighs over the top of the stockings. The minutes were ticking down until Leif would have to get properly dressed. "We don't have too much time left before the train. Is there anything special you want us to do, pretty Southerner?"

The omega gave him a coquettish smile. "Fuck me, sir," he said. In perfect Ceannic.

"Bend over," said Thorn in Sønheic, with a broad answering grin. Scratch that, he could hardly ask to be luckier. This was already the best heat he'd ever been through, and in a few months he'd have one with Leif again, and even now he was on the hormonal plateau of self-control that filled the space between, Leif was _still_ being irresistible.


End file.
